


exspectatione | HQ Olympics Bang!!!

by AlexandraMariaAnna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A lot of original characters, Evangelion - Freeform, Gen, and make sure to check out my partner!, at least a bit, but alas i am BIG and SLOW, fugo keiji, hope you can enjoy it, i've been playing badminton for eight years now so i'm practically projecting my trauma on here, oof i wish i could go to olympics, power unit, some major crossovers with other series, this was written in severe procrastination for the haikyuu olympics bang!, uhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna
Summary: exspectatione (lat.); expectation, looking for, prospect, wait, awaiting, expecting---The Olympics turn out to be much more stressful that they have expected.After a realization brought upon them by another team, Nishinoya and Hinata have to rethink their goals and expectations for the Games.One thing will not change, however, no matter how hard the competition might be - they will, like always, go all out.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2
Collections: Haikyuu Olympics Bang





	1. Serve

**Author's Note:**

> I was lucky to be a part of the HQ Olympics Bang!  
> I worked on my entry in tandem with Nano (@ultramarineicecream on Tumblr), and you should definitely check out their work that goes along with this submission!  
> All in all, enjoy!

There was something nostalgic in the way the bus smelled. It wasn’t the faint scent of cigarettes, snuck inside by a foreign athlete, nor the lingering reek of deodorant and disinfecting alcohol.

It was something way smaller, almost unrecognizable, something that makes the knot in your stomach tighten uncomfortably and causes your head to spin just the tiniest bit. It makes your eyes well up with hot tears, the back of your neck to sweat, and finally- 

“Shoyo, are you okay? You’re lookin’ pale.” Nishinoya nudged his seatmate with his elbow, the sudden gesture causing Hinata’s stomach to churn even harder. 

“Bathroom.” He muttered out, forcing himself to look way forward from where they were seated, praying for nausea to go away so he would not have to embarrass himself in front of tens of other players on the bus. 

God, if they knew what terrible biological danger they were in, they wouldn’t be chattering away so happily. 

“Wait I have some water in my bag, just hang on-”

“ **HUEGH-** ”

A short scream left Nishinoya’s lips as Hinata emptied his stomach (peanuts and sandwiches) onto the bus floor. The poor soul in front of them, a member of the archery team, as deducted by the patch on his coat and the calloused fingers that grabbed onto the seat as he turned around, inquired quietly if the orange-haired boy was all right, to which Hinata could only groan in response, as he prepared for yet another round of combustion. The guy swiftly turned back around and whispered something to his seatmate, who, after glancing with disgust back at Nishinoya and Hinata, stood up from his seat and marched off to the front of the bus. 

Only when the bus slowly rolled to a stop in the middle of nowhere did Nishinoya realize for what reason the archer walked away. The driver, a distraught older man, scooted closer to the boys, pushing past the increasingly interested sprinters. 

“Mister…” he began speaking just to glance at Hinata’s jersey. “Hinata. Are you feeling okay?”

Hinata grunted. Nishinoya took it as a sign to speak for his buddy.

“He threw up. He has terrible motion sickness.” He said and moved a bit to the side to reveal the mess on the floor. The driver grew at least three shades paler as he struggled to figure out what to do with this revelation. 

“Well-” He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “How about we make a stop here, everyone can catch a breather, and I’ll clean that up in the meantime? How does that sound?”

“But sir, we’re about twenty minutes away from the village. Can’t we just go?” The swimming team member in the very back whined, just to be stared back by the rest of his crew. 

“Do you want to smell like throw-up when we arrive, Miguchi?” someone shushed him, and Miguchi instantly went silent. 

Hinata could only mutter a simple ‘I’m sorry’ to the driver as he walked out of the bus and onto the sidewalk. The driver sighed and shook his head. 

“Just promise me to be on top of your game when you compete, okay? Team Japan go!”

That did not calm the raging storm in his stomach. 

It was late July, late morning. The sun was shining a bit too brightly for Hinata’s liking and he grimaced as the rays hit his face as soon as he turned around. Well, that was better than facing the other Japan representatives, who were growing peeved by the sudden delay, connecting the dots about who it was caused by. 

“Hey-” the same archery team member who first noticed Hinata’s distress now approached him, on his face a mix of concern and absolute exhaustion. He was quite tall, Hinata noted as the man walked closer, towering over the badminton player like Tokyo Tower over a tourist. “-are you feeling any better, dude?” he asked worryingly, not quite sure how to talk to someone that much shorter than him. Hinata nodded, wiping his face with a tissue that the bus driver graciously handed him beforehand.

“Much better than three minutes ago, yeah. Though I can’t say what will be happening in the next twenty minutes,” he answered, avoiding eye contact with the archer. The man, however, seemed to be satisfied with the answer. 

“Good! That’s good. You see, Daisuke was quite worried.” he pointed at the man who Hinata recognized as the passenger who went to alert the driver. The so-called Daisuke stood in the shade of the bus, leaning on the large tire, sipping what seemed to be a juice box. The moment he realized he was being observed however, he huffed and walked to a spot from which Hinata would not be able to see him. “He has a younger sister who also has motion sickness, so he knows how that feels.” the archer admitted, scratching his cheek like he just admitted to pulling a prank on someone. “I’m Haru, by the way. I assume you’re Hinata Shoyo? The Japan Open champion?” 

Hinata just nodded. He must have read the back of his jersey as he walked out of the bus. To be honest, usually, he would be overjoyed to be recognized by someone, but now, as his stomach was making somersaults, all he wanted was to lay down. 

“I suppose that would make your friend Nishinoya Yuu, right?” 

“Absolutely!” Nishinoya beamed. He would not miss any second of glory, even if his best friend was this close to puking his guts out. “Japan’s fastest, in the flesh!” he pointed proudly at his chest. Haru clapped his calloused hands in delight.

“I saw your match on TV! I must say, I was on the edge of my seat - Indonesia was THIS close to winning! But your service changed the game, Hinata!” he was now chattering on and on as if someone winded up a music box and forgot to replace the bolt that stops it. Hinata’s face began slowly regaining colors as Haru praised him. Nishinoya grinned as he observed the change; even after all these years, the sun-haired boy was still as receptive to praise as ever.

“Thank you!” Hinata croaked out, his clouded eyes squinting slightly as he looked at Haru, who looked more like a saint than like a human at that very moment. “Thank you very much, Mister Angel, sir!” 

Haru blinked once, then twice, before bursting out in a belly laugh. It was contagious, and the corners of Hinata’s mouth twitched upwards before his stomach churned once more. He stuffed his face back into the paper bag that he received from the driver alongside the tissue. 

“Is- Is he going to be okay?” Haru turned to Nishinoya, who, with a smile as wide as the distance from Tokyo to Brazil, slapped his partner on the back, the latter letting out a yelp as the palm struck his skin. 

“If we don’t put him on a bus before the opening ceremony, I think we’re all good to go!” 

“I see… Well, if there’s any way in which I can help you, just find me, okay? There’s only one Haru in the archery team, as far as I know.” 

The man then walked away towards his teammate who was growing more and more annoyed by the minute, and finally, Hinata and Nishinoya were alone, the rest of the National Delegates opting to keep their distance from the ticking time bomb that was the badminton player. 

“I’m so sorry…” Hinata moaned into the bag. The sun was now at it’s highest possible spot, and most of the delegates were seeking refuge in the shade offered by the trees or by the bus, though the space available there was growing smaller and smaller by the minute. “I messed up again… I got late for the bus, then I left my bag on at a gas station and now I made a mess…”

“Eh. Happens. You told the coach that you had a weak stomach, they could have driven you over here if they cared enough about keeping the bus clean.” Nishinoya shrugged, pulling the wide-brimmed hat lower over his eyes. “Need some water?”

“Yeah. Is it fizzy or-”

“Of course it’s not fizzy, who do you think I am, a savage?”

“Sometimes.”

Nishinoya was a bright individual. When he started playing badminton for fun in primary school, he never thought that he would be on his way to the Olympics village alongside his best friend just a few years later. He was young - nineteen to be precise, and even though he knew that much younger athletes would participate not only this year but in many, many upcoming ones, he felt pride in being under twenty and playing on the great stage that was the Summer Olympic Games. He was a prism, and Hinata was a ray of sun that he amplified; together, they were unstoppable.

End flashback, the “ray of sun” was now puking his guts out on the side of the road. Nishinoya handed him a water bottle, and he drank hungrily as if someone was about to take it away from him. Nishinoya sighed, before rummaging through his bag for another one, just in case Hinata wanted to drink more. He halted in his moves, however, as a low voice called out from the inside of the bus, snapping everyone out of their conversations and heat-induced half-naps. 

“Everyone! If you could come back to the bus, please! It’s been cleaned and aired out, so we can be on our way!” and as everyone started to scramble back into the vehicle, the driver added, looking directly at the two members of the badminton team; “Mister Hinata, I’d like you to sit in the front, so I can react quickly if anything like this happens again, okay?”

Hinata nodded, embarrassed.

“Okay…”

The rest of the ride to the Olympic Village went by in complete silence, save for the snores of a girl from acrobatics who fell asleep immediately after sitting down on the comfortable seat. 

\---

“Team Japan! What happened? You were supposed to be here almost an hour ago. Caught a flat tire? Got lost on your turf?”

“Just a bit of a technical problem, nothing we couldn’t fix though.”

“Glad you made it, anyways. We do have a bit of a problem now, though. Polish team just arrived as well, and you’re going to have to wait for an hour or so until we book them in. Your booking time has already passed, after all. Or do you want me to call the management maybe?”

“No, no, we’ll wait! Once again, sorry for the trouble.”

It was blazing hot, but at least the accursed bus wasn’t moving anymore. Hinata leaned back into his seat, drifting in and out of consciousness as he watched the white and red bus parked in front of them began spitting out people. They chatted away, the words Hinata could catch through the open doors sounding like whistling and melodies. 

“Russian?” he inquired towards the man next to him, a member of the fencing team. 

“Polish.” the man replied, absentmindedly flipping through a brochure on the Olympic Village. Hinata frowned. 

“Where’s Poland? That’s in Europe, right?” 

The fencer stopped reading the brochure and glanced at the badminton player in disbelief. Hinata wasn’t sure if he was going to reply to him, but after a short period of silence, he sighed and did just that.

“Yes. It’s in Central Europe. You know where Germany is, right?”

Hinata nodded.

“It’s the next country to the right.” 

“The one shaped like a heart?” 

“Exactly.”

“That’s cute!”

“Perhaps.”

He watched them for a while longer, their language like a song to his ears. Someone was singing a song as they yanked their luggage out of the baggage compartment and he found himself humming along, even though he had no idea what the words mean. The fencer was not having a good time. 

Finally, when what seemed like most of the Polish players disappeared into the building, the driver gestured towards the people inside the bus, and Ikari (as Hinata learned by listening in to his conversation with someone on the phone) turned around in his seat and yelled at everyone to get moving. They scattered out, some carried out by others if they were too tired or sleepy to walk - well, one person, the female gymnast - and soon they were at the doors, queueing up behind the last of the Polish team, which was now seemingly having a heated conversation about… something. It’s not like Hinata and Nishinoya could understand them anyway.

“ _Mówiłem ci, że jak uśniesz to będziemy w dupie z pokojami.”_ A tall, muscular man hissed at the shorter male next to him. The blonde looked equally, if not more agitated. 

“ _W dupie, w dupie, płyta ci się zacięła? Jak ci od koszykowki zaczęli się pchać do wyjścia to wiadomo było że będziemy ostatni. To ty chciałeś siedzieć z samego tyłu”_ he whined and delivered a sharp jab to his friend’s (?) ribs. The man yelped in pain and caught the blonde by a hair, seemingly about to deliver a knee to his face. Hinata decided to intervene.

“Hi! Good weather we’re having!” he mused in his broken English accent, the attention of the Poles and Nishinoya now on him. “It would be a shame to waste it on fighting!” he shot them his brightest smile. Nishinoya followed suit. 

“Huh? We’re not fighting, little man.” The brunette answered with what almost seemed like a sneer. “I’m just showing Mieszko over here that he’s a fucking idiot,” he added and tapped Mieszko’s chin with his knee. The blonde looked annoyed but unhurt. 

Was this sort of thing normal in Poland?

“So the blonde guy is Mieszko right?” Nishinoya asked, struggling with the name for a bit, which prompted the other man to snort in suppressed laughter. “So what is your name?” 

When he finally stopped shaking, the taller man answered. 

“Robert. Nice to meet you… man?” 

“Nishinoya! And this is Hinata. We’re Japan’s best in the art of badminton!” 

Perhaps striking a pose at the end of the sentence wasn’t the best idea, as Mieszko and Robert now stared at them in disbelief before glancing at each other. They looked like they were communicating telepathically - can Poles communicate telepathically? Hinata was more and more amazed at the capabilities of this magical country located in Europe. 

“That’s a surprising coincidence,” Mieszko spoke for the first time, his voice surprisingly deep for his statute. “We’re delegates for badminton as well.”

The temperature in front of the village rose by at least five degrees Celsius as Hinata’s face beamed in happiness, Nishinoya following shortly behind. 

_“Robert, czemu oni krzyczą-”_

“That’s so cool! Do you think we can call this destiny? For us to be the first in line, and for you to be the last in line, for us to meet like this! Or maybe you guys knew that we would be first? Did you plan this meeting?” Hinata shouted, successfully attracting the attention of the remaining Polish players and the Japanese delegates who joined the queue.

“Which rackets do you guys use? Do you train indoors or outdoors? What’s your preferred brand of sports shoes? How did you guys get drafted?” Nishinoya inquired while stepping just a little bit too close to Robert, who had to crane his neck down to look at him. People were now actively staring, someone in the front giggling, and someone in the back, who sounded an awful lot like Ikari, sighed deeply as if they were a tire deflating. Mieszko waved his hands in front of him, an embarrassed blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Calm down, oh God, calm down! How about we meet, at, I don’t know, lunch to talk? You guys are making, no pun intended, quite a racket.” 

Robert was officially losing it in the background, his face red and tears streaming freely from his eyes. Much to Mieszko’s dismay, the boys became even louder at the mention of food. Thankfully, the official-looking woman called the rest of the Polish team into the building, and with a small wave, the badminton players disappeared behind the automatic sliding doors. Hinata was still waving, even after the red jerseys disappeared into the corridor, and Noya was now vibrating with excitement, thinking about food, and about the newly made friends. 

God only knew if the Poles considered them friends as well.

They didn’t wait long before the same woman invited them inside the building as well, ignoring the annoyed groans of the freshly-arrived Italian team. The badminton players led the charge, followed closely by the archers and sprinters. Their excited chatters filled the hall, and two workers with handfuls of keys approached them, their expressions tired even though it was only early afternoon. 

“Welcome to the Olympic Village! My name is Iwako Kusanagi, and I’ll be your representative during your stay here!” The woman smiled, the keys jingling in her arms. “I’ll go over about the rules and schedules after we distribute room keys; and on that accord, I would like to ask you to create groups of four, and we will place you in the rooms according to these groups!” 

Muttering and laughs filled the hall as the players waved at each other, called out their names, and the names of their friends joining hands to signify that they were making a group. Scratch the fact that most of them were adults, they were having a class field trip again, and none of them minded a bit of silliness. 

Hinata and Nishinoya grabbed each others’ arms and began looking around for two more poor souls who would have to share a living space with them for the next two and a half weeks. Hinata met Ikari’s eyes in the crowd, and the taller man made a show of putting his arm on top of a random fencer who first looked at him, confused, but soon his face cleared up with recognition and excitement. The orange-haired player stuck a tongue at him. He didn’t know what he was missing. Noya hummed in the background, looking around like a sonar. Before he could leap at a random baseball player who was just walking by, however, someone waved at them from behind the crowd, and after a moment two familiar faces came into their view. 

“Hello!” Haru chirped, pulling Daisuke, who obviously wasn’t feeling this situation, behind him. Noya’s face brightened as he jumped slightly to greet them over the crowd. “Are you guys perhaps short of two roommates?” 

“Absolutely!” he cheered, holding his hand up for a high five that Haru gladly returned. Daisuke groaned but nodded his head in silent approval of this new situation. They chatted casually for a moment, catching up on what happened while they were separated, Haru not hesitating to poke a bit fun at the badminton players’ outburst in front of the building, to which Hinata blushed in embarrassment, just then realizing how much of a scene he caused. 

After they received their room key, and the nice man at the front desk logged their names into the system, they headed upstairs, to the part of Hotel C that was reserved for the Japan Representatives. They passed the cheering baseball team, who raced up the stairs to the highest floor of the hotel, not bothering to take the lift. The cyclers stood still in the hall, trying to figure out the way to their rooms. Judokas teased the divers who got stuck in the furthest wing of the hotel, as far away from the entrance as possible. There was a pleasant, uplifting chatter surrounding the small group of four as they made their way all the way to room 413; and something squeezed their hearts as it finally hit them for good. They were here, at the Olympics. They made it. 

Hinata’s hand clenched on his suitcase as Daisuke cracked open the door.

His legend began here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Polish phrases and words used in this chapter:
> 
> Mówiłem ci, że jak uśniesz to będziemy w dupie z pokojami - I told you that we'd be in deep shit with the room placements if you fall asleep.
> 
> W dupie, w dupie, płyta ci się zacięła? Jak ci od koszykowki zaczęli się pchać do wyjścia to wiadomo było że będziemy ostatni. To ty chciałeś siedzieć z samego tyłu - Deep shit, deep shit, what are you, a broken record? When the basketball dudes started pushing towards the exit it was obvious we're gonne be last to go. It's you who wanted to sit in the back.
> 
> Robert, czemu oni krzyczą - Robert, why are they screaming?


	2. Receive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are exchanged, and a grim realization is brought upon the players.

“Move it, move it! Give it your all! Come on, just one more rep!” 

A bead of sweat rolled down Hinata’s face as he lifted the weight for the last time. He dropped the heavy object to the ground and it clattered along the ground, the trainer cheering as she patted him on the back. 

“Great job, Shoyo! Ready for Saturday? You’re in doubles, right?”

Hinata just nodded, chugging the water offered to him as this life depended on it. 

“There’s the opening ceremony to attend first, though.” He muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’ll be in front since I’m… average height.”

The lady laughed and began collecting her things from the bench. She threw her towel over her arm and grabbed the colorful bag containing all her necessities, shooting Hinata a toothy grin. 

“You’re taller than me, sharpshooter. Good luck!” 

And just like that, she was off, leaving Hinata behind in the gym, surrounded by athletes of all ages and nationalities. Someone was very loudly telling a joke in greek in the corner by the window, followed by a deep laugh and a sound of a knee being slapped. Another person was muttering to himself in a Slavic language as if they were making sure that they had everything in their bag before they left. A loud group of German sharpshooters entered the gym, and they poked at each other as three of them broke away from the group to get a good spot by the window. Hinata put the cap back on the half-empty bottle of water. A year ago, he was playing with his local team, aiming for the championship, and now he was on the opposite side of Japan, about to take part in the Olympics, living through what can be easily called every athlete’s dream. 

Hinata didn’t quite remember the day that the letter arrived at his house. He was getting ready to go get a check-up at his local dentist’s office and run to practice right after, when Natsu ran into the bathroom, halfway ready for school herself, with a crisp envelope in hand, wheezing out something about “a government seal” and “why didn’t you tell mom you’re going to jail”. That was, of course, a joke, but it didn’t stop Hinata from feeling faint as he grabbed the envelope out of his sister’s hands, his toothbrush still in his mouth. He knew his “world rank” was high, especially after he and Nishinoya scored a silver in the last open, losing only to team Spain, but when his eyes met the fine print on the, almost too official, paper, the brush still fell out of his mouth and clattered to the floor, leaving a mess at his feet. 

And then, he let out the highest screech he had yet unleashed in his life, causing his poor mother to sprint into the bathroom, concerned about her son’s well being. With tears in his eyes and toothpaste on his clothes, he looked at his mom and sister, hands shaky and something unrecognizable forming in his throat.

“Mom… I’m going to Olympics.” he croaked, and his mom stared at him for a second, as if trying to process the information she just received, before opening her arms widely and trapping her son in a tight hug, whispering words of congratulations right into his ear. Natsu joined the pile after doing a small victory dance. That Tuesday, around eight-thirty in the morning, was undoubtedly the happiest moment of his life.

The German team laughed loudly and Hinata snapped out of his little flashback, a dumb smile still visible on his face as he placed the bottle in his bright orange bag. Just a couple more hours until the Olympics begin, and his family will see him on the large tv screen in the living room, right behind the flag bearer, smiling his widest smile right into the camera, broadcasted around the world for everyone to see. He grinned to himself as he slung his gym bag over his shoulder and walked out of the room leaving the multinational chatter behind him. 

It was nearing lunchtime, and the exhaustion caused by the exercise only deepened Hinata’s hunger, the young man looking around furiously as his stomach growled. 

“I’ll just change quickly and go to the canteen…” he muttered and took the lift up to his floor, saying small hi's and hello’s to his fellow Japanese athletes who were already heading downstairs. The door to his room was creaked open as he walked inside, and the first thing that came into his view after we marched into the common area was Daisuke, sprawled across the sofa, snoring as if his life depended on it. Hinata snorted silently and tiptoed to the bathroom, changing quickly while listening to Daisuke mutter curses in his sleep. He threw on a simple t-shirt and a pair of shorts, depositing his sweaty training clothes in the laundry basket. The archer groaned, and for a second Hinata thought that he would be in danger of being thrown something at his smaller form, but when the black-haired man turned to his other side and buried his face into the backrest area of the couch, the humanized ray of sunshine slipped back through the main door, this time locking it behind himself quietly. 

He was halfway through the hotel on his way to the banquet hall repurposed into a canteen, when someone smaller even than him barrelled into his side, nearly knocking him clean off his feet.

“SHOYO! THE AMOUNT OF FOOD IN THE CANTEEN IS UNBELIEVABLE!” the figure yelled, and with a sigh of relief, Hinata recognized it as his doubles partner, Nishinoya. “I think I’ve seen every type of food that there’s available on earth today!” 

“Seriously!?” The surprise was gone from Hinata’s eyes at the mention of food, and he swore he heard the familiar voice of Ikkari laugh at him in the background. No matter! Food time!

They raced down the corridor and stairs, causing the athletes who went there earlier a great deal of distress as they ducked to the sides, letting the sprinting duo take the middle of the carpeted floor. If they found an obstacle on their path, Hinata took the upper path jumping over the miscellaneous items scattered in the lobby while Nishinoya took the scenic route, with agility zig-zagging around the guests. And when the smell of food finally started hitting them, they only sped up. How? Only God knows.

To say that the canteen, one of three in the Olympic village, was large would be an understatement. The first time Hinata saw it he thought he was walking into a stadium. Stalls lined the walls, food from different countries hot and piping, ready for consumption. Some of the players stayed by the door, opting to chat in their respective languages, others launched a collective attack on the food stalls, snatching better bites and portions onto their trays. Hinata and Nishinoya gave each other a knowing look, and rushed into battle, trays in hand, a war cry on their lips, one that made the French swim team chuckle under their breaths from their table by the large window. 

They grabbed what they could; had they come down earlier they would probably have grabbed even more - from American pancakes, through traditional noodles, to fresh fruit; there was everything the young athletes could have wished for and more. Just like in a crowded American high school (or what Nishinoya thought high school was like, after watching so many movies), they began to look for a space to sit down and enjoy the meal. Everyone seemed to be sitting in groups; ones that consisted of roommates, people of the same nationalities, and even families that managed to reunite as representatives for different countries. Compared to them, Hinata and Nishinoya stuck out like sore thumbs, standing in the middle of the cafeteria, hoping to catch a glimpse of empty space in an amicable surrounding. 

Finally, land in the middle of the sea.

A pair of familiar faces sat in the corner, at a relatively empty table, and Nishinoya gently kicked Hinata’s ankle, pointing towards the table with his head. Like during the games, Hinata followed his lead seamlessly, and soon they were both meandering towards their goal. The two figures perked up slightly as they saw them approach, just for one of them to visibly deflate when they realized who was coming. 

“ _Dzień Dobry!_ ” Nishinoya exclaimed in broken Polish, attempting to pronounce the single sentence he had learned overnight. Mieszko and Robert, the badminton players they met before returned the sentiment with the same, but much more comprehensible, greeting, Mieszko deciding to say his words to the cabbage roll he was eating. “Can we sit down with you guys? There isn’t anywhere else to sit down. Not that we don’t want to, of course!” 

Robert smiled, taking a sip of his tea.  
“Make yourself comfortable, I suppose.”

And they did just that. 

Hinata took a spot next to Mieszko, who was very obviously avoiding any contact with the orange-haired boy, Nishinoya sitting down by Robert who scooted to the side to let him get more comfortable. They sat in silence for a moment, the crunching of Robert’s salad and the gentle sips of the fizzy drink Nishinoya picked up mixing with the rumbling chatter in the background. The silence was pleasant, and Mieszko nearly felt comfortable in the alien presence before Hinata took a large gulp of his water and looked straight at him.

“So… Can you guys tell us something about yourselves?”

The poles blinked once, then twice. The corner of Robert’s lip quivered as he spoke;

“Is that how you start a conversation in Japan?” 

Hinata’s face bloomed into a field of red flowers. He took another sip of his water, ignoring the amused look Nishinoya was sending him across the table. 

“Of course not, I just… Didn’t know what else to say. I’m not good with first impressions, most of them happen when I’m on my way to the bathroom, and then there are more pressing matters to attend to, figuratively and literally.” he explained, and Robert looked like he was about to explode. 

“TMI, little man.” he chortled out, attempting to drown his giggle in his tea. Hinata frowned. 

“TeeEmmE?” 

“Too much information.” Mieszko deadpanned from next to him, but Hinata simply nodded, smiling in appreciation.

“Ah! Thank you! New vocabulary is always nice!” he smiled and Nishinoya followed with a ‘thank you’ of his own. Mieszko sighed, and once again left the conversation, studying the cross-section of his cabbage roll like it was his biology homework he forgot to do the day before. Glancing at his partner, Robert decided to be the one to break the ice again, now properly. 

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to introduce ourselves, I suppose. The sprinters that we’ve been rooming with aren’t exactly the most conversational folk, so making some acquaintances can only do us good, right Mieszko?” 

No answer.

“...Right.” Robert rolled his eyes, turning slightly to the side to face both Nishinoya and Hinata. “As I told you, I’m Robert Michaszkiewicz and I’m the badminton representative of the Republic of Poland. I’ve been practicing the sport since I’ve been 9 years old, so that would mean… Twelve years now?” he mused, stirring the rapidly cooling tea with his right hand.

“So you’re 21?” Nishinoya inquired, checking his math. Robert nodded. 

“Well, 22. My birthday was yesterday.”

“Happy Birthday!! So sorry that you can’t spend it with your family!”

“Please don’t make me more depressed.”

Mieszko snorted in the background, and Robert shot him a dirty look. 

“Anyways… Well, there isn’t much to say, really. I play doubles with Mieszko, and my favorite food is black licorice.” he mused, and Nishinoya shuddered. Only the manliest of men could openly admit to liking the controversial candy, and Robert just grew at least a few centimeters in Nishinoya’s eyes. “Oh, and I own an orchard back home? I suppose you can call that a fun fact, or something.” 

“Whoa! So you grow your own apples? How much do you harvest in a year?” 

“Not apples, plums. And it depends on the year, really! Last year the temperatures were really low in the spring so the harvest was lower. I’m hopeful for the current year, though, the spring was moist and warm.” he smiled gently, and the boys could see just how much he loved his plants. They could just imagine him walking through the green orchard with a basket in hand, picking the low-hanging plums. It was a pleasant sight, and Hinata felt a sudden craving for a plum dessert. “Any more questions?” he asked, and Nishinoya perked up. 

“What shoes do you guys get to your uniforms?” he asked, and Robert cocked his head.

“You mean the game ones? Official?”

“Yeah, these ones! I saw you guys warming up yesterday, and they look super cool!”

“I use GEL BLADE 7s, the ASICS model, I don’t know about Mieszko. I just know he wears light shoes since he runs around a lot.” Robert laughed. Mieszko, having finally finished his lunch, wiped his mouth with a napkin and decided to put in his two cents. 

“UPCOURT 3s. Cheap and they last longer.” he said, cleaning up his plate. Nishinoya snapped his head to the side, surprised that the shorter Pole spoke at all, having not shown any intent to do that beforehand. “What?” he added, confused. “Don’t like them?”

“No, no!” Nishinoya laughed merrily, his voice ringing in the air like wind chimes. “Just surprised that you said something after all!”

Mieszko huffed, hiding his face behind a stone facade. 

“It’s all because of Robert. If I said nothing after he oh-so-graciously poured his heart out to you, I’d look like an asshole and I-” he turned to face both of the boys. “-am not one.”

“Usually,” Robert interjected, but shut up quickly when met with Mieszko’s piercing glare, opting to only laugh quietly at his friend’s distress. 

“My name is Mieszko Żurawski. I’m 23 years old, and I’ve been playing badminton shorter than this oaf here, but I think I’m just as good. I am very tired right now, the time zones are weird and I miss my family. I am also very stressed, as you can probably imagine.” he muttered, locking eyes with the golden liquid inside his cup. They were silent for a while, contemplating his words before Hinata spoke up. 

“Have you ever been to Robert’s orchard?” he asked and Mieszko met his eyes questioningly. 

“I have, twice, I think.”

“Were you nervous?”

Mieszko frowned, obviously starting to get annoyed by Hinata’s seemingly pointless questions. Hinata, however, was smiling widely, waiting for an answer. Thus, an answer he got. 

“No, why would I be nervous going to an orchard?” he sneered, ticked off, ready to leave. What Hinata said next, however, was what kept him in place, rooted to the chair in the corner of the cafeteria.

“Then-” Hinata began carefully, his thumb tracing along the rim of his glass that was now well frosted over with mist. “-couldn’t you just think about this place as an orchard?” he questioned and instantly regretted saying so when he noticed Mieszko’s face switch from annoyance to pure confusion. “I mean, like, the power of imagination? I think? You could just imagine that you’re on your way to the orchard, or there and that everyone surrounding you is trees and stuff, so you could just pay attention to the game… and stuff…” his shouts turned into mutters as he took a swing out of his glass, embarrassed. Mieszko blinked a few times, processing the words to the best of his ability. Hinata wished he could fall under the ground and never resurface again. 

Then, Mieszko laughed. His voice was deep and seemed to be coming straight from his diaphragm as he roared in laughter, wiping a stray tear or two that appeared when he doubled over, attempting to stifle his, now quite attention-gathering, chortles. Robert followed suit, and Nishinoya and Hinata just began to realize how in tandem the two players really were. 

“Oh man, oh man… Think about the field as an orchard? That’s so rich, god damn!” Mieszko hollered, wiping a bead of sweat that was now making its way down his face. “Thank you, little man, I haven’t had such a good laugh in ages.” 

“Oh! Um, happy to be of service.”

“Service indeed, Jesus Christ…” he let the last of his giggles out, sighing deeply as he calmed down, a serene half-smile now ever-present on his face. He took a sip of his tea and looked back at Hinata, who was both very embarrassed and amused by the sudden turn of Mieszko’s mood. “I can’t drive, Hinata, Nishinoya.” he spoke calmly, with a hint of playfulness. 

“Excuse me?” It was Nishinoya who answered him this time, returning to the conversation. Mieszko looked at him with a smile, and even though he would never say it out loud, Nishinoya had to admit that the Polish player looked much more handsome while smiling than when scowling.

“A ‘fun fact’, as Robbie called it,” he said, and Nishinoya heard sputtering noises coming from the man next to him. 

“How did you call me? I’ll kill you.” 

“Shut up.”

“You can… Ride bikes though, right?” Hinata questioned finishing off the rest of his drink. Mieszko smiled back at him, playing with the porcelain cup in his hands. 

“Of course I can. I’m not a baby.”

The four of them chattered freely for a while, speaking about everything and nothing; Hinata recalled the story of him getting stuck in the racket storage back at his club, while Robert recalled a similar story Mieszko experienced, which earned him a jab in the ribs. They also whined about the quality of Polish airlines, and about the delays of polish trains and buses, which in turn surprised Hinata and Nishinoya, as they never saw a train that was late. The conversation was on the topic of the appeal of unicycles, when Nishinoya perked up, looking around the cafeteria.

“Yo, there’s nearly no one here!” he exclaimed, shaking Robert’s shoulder slightly. “The workers are beginning to clean up the place!”

Robert followed his line of sights, watching the workers in colorful vests dance around the room, collecting leftover trash, and disinfecting the tables.

“You’re right, man.” he sighed, getting up from his spot, his back reminding him that it was not the most comfortable of positions to be sitting in for a couple of hours. “Whew, I’m sore. Want to take a walk with us, guys? Which building did they put you up in?” he moved his arm in a circular motion, warming up his joints. 

“B, I think? The one with the deep blue roof?”

“That’s on the way!”

“I have a better idea!” Hinata chirped, jumping on the bench, gaining himself some more centimeters. He pointed his finger at the Poles, his grin nearly splitting his face in half. “Now that we’ve eaten and got to know each other…” Nishinoya’s face beamed in the background, seemingly catching onto Hinata’s train of thoughts. “Wanna spar with us? One game, just so we won’t get rusty before the actual game!” 

Mieszko raised his eyebrows.

“Are you sure? I mean, we aren’t against it, I think-” Robert shook his head ‘no’ and Mieszko continued, getting up from the bench himself. “-but I don’t think we’d be the best sparring partners. We don’t exactly know what it means to hold back…” he trailed off, and Hinata smiled even wider if that was possible. 

“Neither do we! Besides!” he shouted, jumping off the bench and skipping off towards Nishinoya, patting him gently on the back. “When we’re playing alone, we’re strong, but when we play together, we’re unstoppable!” 

Nishinoya gave his partner a hearty laugh as he grabbed him by the arm and messed up his tangerine hair. 

“Well said! Well said!”

Mieszko and Robert looked at each other, and with a gentle smile shrugged their arms. 

“Alright then. Just don’t say we didn’t warn ya.”

“It’s you who we should be telling that too, guys!”

\---

The shuttlecock fell to the ground with a gentle thud, and Nishinoya’s body skidded against the floor as he tumbled past its resting spot and towards the official’s bench which was currently occupied by Daisuke who stared in concern at his ‘friend’. The court was quiet, quiet enough that if you dropped a 5 yen coin, you could hear every touch with the surface. Hinata breathed heavily, the racket nearly slipping from his hands as he held his hands on his knees, catching wisps of air into his starved lungs. His vision was spotted. 

Nishinoya groaned as he got up slowly, helping himself by grabbing onto the scoreboard, the fat red 17 under his left hand taunted him, making fun of his effort along with the, now changed by Daisuke, 21. 

They lost. Team Japan, the hopeful underdogs lost to the Polish team in a spar that, by all means possible, should not have gotten that serious. Nishinoya felt a warm trickle on his upper lip, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand, wincing when he saw blood on the top of it. One more thing to worry about, a busted vessel. 

“Are you okay?” Daisuke asked, speaking his first real words towards his roommate with a concerned look in his eyes. His voice was very pleasant to the ear, but Nishinoya couldn’t truly appreciate it, as the thudding of his own blood in his ears shut out all and any sound he could have received from the outside world.

Shame. Shame was all he felt, that and stinging embarrassment. After speaking boisterous words of planned victory to their opponents they were now gasping for breath, humiliated and humbled, and Nishinoya felt blood rushing to his face in frustration. He wouldn’t show it though. He was sure that Hinata was in much worse shape. 

He ignored Daisuke’s questioning glances as he walked back to the field, approaching Hinata slowly, but surely. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of his junior, not when it could break his concentration for the rest of the games; and that would have been an instantaneous loss for both of them. Hinata was looking at his shoes, breathing heavily, but steady, the racket clenched in his hand, threatening to break if any more pressure was exerted on the handle. He gently set his hand on the orange-haired boy’s shoulder, and the said ginger looked up at him, an odd mix of desperation and disappointment in his eyes, with a dash of bitter anger that burned behind his irises. 

“Holy fuck you guys were amazing!” Robert shouted from the opposite side of the court, delivering a loud high-five to his partner, who instantly sat down on the court and began drying his sweaty face with his t-shirt. “You good, Nishinoya? You ate the ground pretty hard at the end there,” he added, squinting to see him better.

“Yeah, all’s good. A bit of bloodletting never killed anybody.” 

Nishinoya winced when he realized how raspy his voice was. 

“Bloodletting is the main reason for people dying, actually,” Mieszko muttered from the ground, earning himself a laugh from Robert and a hand extended in his direction to hoist himself back onto his feet. It was an offer he took instantly. The two approached the net, walking under it and towards the Japanese players, hoping to check them over for any injuries. Daisuke began packing up in the background, fishing out two water bottles from his gym back. Was he regretting being dragged out of the room to play referee? No one knew. Did he feel bad about his roommates being crushed by their opponents? 

Probably.

“Are you guys up for drinks or something later? I’d love to talk about strategies with you if I have the chance.” Robert mused, and Hinata stood straight again, holding his hands on the lower of his back, massaging it slightly.

“We appreciate the invitation, but I think we have to rest after this match,” Hinata interjected before Nishinoya could say anything. He was smiling, but the smile wasn’t reaching his eyes. Nishinoya felt a tug in his stomach. Robert hummed but nodded his head. 

“Yeah, I get it. Rest up then! See you at lunch tomorrow?” 

“Isn’t tomorrow the opening ceremony?” Mieszko asked, readjusting his glasses. 

“No that’s the day after tomorrow, dumbass.” 

“Fuck off, why do you always call me dumb?”

Hinata and Nishinoya waved their friends goodbye, and Daisuke approached them with water. The smile fell from Hinata’s face, just like his hand did, dropping to his side limply. He tumbled to the ground, sitting like a lost, abandoned doll, having dropped the racket to the side. He laughed a bit, his voice empty.

“Holy shit we got rocked. We got fucking obliterated,” he muttered, rare curse words slipping from his lips like a litany of woes. “I couldn’t keep up with Mieszko, that man is mad! MAD!” he shouted, throwing his hands into the air in distress. “Each time I thought that I knew what he was going to do he was on the opposite side of the net slamming point after a point into our field. And did you noticed how creepy Robert looks when he’s playing? He’s ready for murder, Christ, if we meet him in the actual game I’m sure he will kill us! Or me, at least!” Hinata whined as Nishinoya squatted next to him, grabbing the bottle of water from Daisuke with a quiet ‘thanks’

“Well this did not go as we planned.” he mused, taking a careful sip of the cold water. “The exact opposite, actually.” Daisuke put the remaining bottle next to Hinata, and with a polite grunt made his way back to the dorms, not quite knowing how he would insert himself into the conversation, or if he even wanted to do so. There was also the fact that he had archery practice, and dwelling upon other sportsmen’s failures was not something he needed during the quiet seconds on the stadium. Thus, he left, leaving the boys to a conversation he was most likely not privy to.

It was quiet, for a moment at least. Someone laughed behind the window, followed by more mindless chatter, and Hinata sighed, laying down on the cold floor. 

“What do we do, Nishinoya?” he asked, staring at the lights above until his eyes hurt. Nishinoya hummed in response. 

“I have no idea. I have to admit, we went into this competition with a little bit too much confidence.” Noya muttered, twisting the bottle cap back onto the bottle. “Is it because we beat Indonesia back in March? When did we lose sight of how…. Inferior we are to other teams?” 

Hinata closed his eyes, the floor absorbing the warmth from his overheated bodies. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know Nishinoya. I have no clue what to do.” He covered his face with his hands and groaned. “We’re not gonna win shit if we stay like this.”

“Should we train? We can come up with a new strategy, maybe we can call old Ukai back home to ask for help-”

“Five days before the games begin? Not possible. Should we scout out other teams?”

“No way they’d let us do that.”

They fell silent again, frustration thick in the air. Nishinoya wiped the last of the blood that left his nose, not quite aware of the mess his face was covered in afterward. He held the shuttlecock gently in his calloused hands, throwing it up repeatedly, watching as it always came back nose-down and ready for a receive. It was so easy to do so, with the extension that the racket allowed, but when team Poland were the ones serving, it was so hard to see it, like it disappeared the moment the racket touched that, just to reappear right in their faces, unable to be properly received.  How did they do that? How was it possible for them to have such a level of understanding that allowed them to play seamlessly without talking?

Nishinoya squeezed the bottle a bit too hard and the plastic cried out in pain as it crinkled and crackled under his fingers. 

“We need to practice.” he finally spoke, releasing the bottle from his grip. “There is no other way. Either we work ourselves half to death, or we’re gonna go home empty-handed.”

Hinata said something incomprehensible as he put his forehead against the ground, trying to become one with the earth. The only thing that he could pick out from the stream of mutters was the word “food” and “sleep”, and what he could only describe as “Haru”.

“You think that Haru’s gonna be worried that we’re not back from lunch yet?”

“Mhm.”

“No worries, I’m sure Daisuke told him that we’re here.” 

“Mm.”

“That or he went to sleep right away.”

“Mmhm.”

More silence. Someone yelled something loudly about the other team’s outfit colors, and there was a scuffle under the windows, but the badminton players were too tired to pay attention to that. 

“Do you think… There’s a possibility that we won’t bring anything home?” Hinata asked, surprisingly clearly for someone with their face against the floor. Nishinoya felt a lump in his throat.

“Yeah. There always is.”

The silence that followed him was the heaviest one yet. 

It finally hit them how naive they were when promising gold to their families and friends. They did not take other teams into consideration; other athletes that worked just as hard, if not harder than them to achieve the same goal. They got lost in their dreams and hopes, and that short amount of time spent on the field with Robert and Mieszko melted their Icarus wings and brought them back to reality, to the grim realization of uncertainty and helplessness. The words that Hinata spoke to Mieszko, preaching about an orchard, and about not being stressed now came back to bite him in the ass, and he wished that there was a convenient person around that would tell them both the very same words, albeit repackaged for a different occasion. 

They both laid on the floor for a while, cooling down after the match. None of them spoke for the rest of the small, casual gym sleepover party, as they both replayed the match over and over again in their heads. Where did pride end and humility began? When to give up?

Should they give up?

The last question was, of course, purely theoretical, since there was no way any of them would go down without a fight. They were on the Olympics grounds, getting ready for the opening ceremony, chosen out of thousands of hopefuls, and the eyes of the world were on them. It was a heavy burden, but it was one that they would carry no matter what the outcome would be. 

“We’re gonna have to overcome this.”

“To overcome them, you mean?”

“That’s gonna be our grand finale.”

And as they walked right behind the flag bearer two days later and waved towards the camera, there was a new fire in their eyes and a new strategy brewing in their heads. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Polish phrases in this chapter:
> 
> Dzień Dobry - Good Morning


	3. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mistake is made.  
> Regrets start being noticeable.  
> History is created during August's evening.

There was so much noise in the stadium that Hinata Shoyo had to cover his ears when the opening ceremony for Badminton took place. He tried to look for familiar faces in the stands, but thousands of faces blurred together, and he tried to swallow the lump rapidly growing in his throat. Uniforms of all colors and patterns fluttered no matter where he looked, and he clenched the bottom of his own, pure white, representative jersey in stress. His stomach was starting to hurt. He spotted Mieszko and Robert talking with who he could only assume was their coach, both of them proudly wearing wine-red uniforms with matching shoes. They looked confident and refined; the exact opposite of him.

“Yo! Ready to rock?” Nishinoya asked, adjusting his pants. The elastic hugged his form weirdly - or maybe it was just his brain trying to tell him something was going to go terribly wrong that day. He put on a cheerful facade, yet underneath that, he was an even bigger mess than Hinata. He was the older one, the one with more experience; he felt responsible for whatever was going to happen over these few days. “Remember we’re playing-”

“Malaysia. I know.” 

“Good.” 

The crowd flowed around them like a river, everyone making their way back to their spots after the opening ceremony. Four days of preliminaries, then three days of mixed quarterfinals and semifinals, and in the very end, finals. Men’s doubles were second to last, and on that Friday morning, all would be already resolved. It sounded easy; so why was Nishinoya on the verge of tears? 

The bruise on his nose didn’t disappear yet. It reminded him of the failure he suffered against team Poland each time he looked in the mirror, and each time his hazel eyes landed on it, he wished he could just punch the glossy surface until it shattered. Yet, he couldn’t do that; a badminton player earns his worth with his hands. He opted to instead throw a towel over the mirror when it wasn’t absolutely needed, an action that earned him a worried glance from Haru, who was already onto his ways to the quarterfinals after passing the preliminaries the day before, alongside Daisuke, who beat his personal record. There was a pit of jealousy in his stomach as the two returned to the room joyful after the event, Daisuke’s eternally stony facade for once rosy and happy. They laughed and they bragged, and Noya squeezed the notebook with tidbits of info on other teams and theories just a little bit too tight.

And now it was their turn. On their home turf, watched by millions of eyes around the world. They couldn’t afford a single mistake, not when it was the Olympics. 

They would not know how to handle it if they fell apart in the very first match.

Hinata and Nishinoya would play three times in the preliminaries: that day, in the morning, against team Malaysia, then the next day in the evening against Russia, and on the very last day, in the evening, they would face off with Slovakia. They were not in the same group as Poland, and maybe that was for the best; they were not quite sure how to address them after their loss. They all talked, of course, meeting for lunch and even went drinking once, but the conversation seemed strained, and every time the boys looked at Mieszko and Robert they felt the taste of despair on their tongues. How does one play these kinds of people again? Their presence loomed over them like death, and they shuddered as they watched them warm up on the field by the south wall. They were playing Finland, and, judging by their banter, it was not their first game. The Japanese team suddenly felt very unsure about their experience.

The pressure exerted by the public was also not the easiest thing to handle; lenses of high-quality cameras, specialized for capturing sports were pointed right at them, glistening in the cold lights of the stadium. They couldn’t be outshined, however, by thousands of smaller glints reflecting off the onlookers’ eyes. It was as if a large stone was pressing them down to the court, and had he not been as hyper-aware of his surroundings as he were, Hinata would have sworn that the ground underneath his shoes started to crack. The tension was so thick that he felt like he was swimming in the ocean. That, or he was simply sweating so much that he felt like he was in one. Good thing their match would not start for the next hour, so he can at least try to make himself look more presentable. 

They walked back into the locker room, or, as some called it, prep room. It was oddly silent now, with the competition literally minutes away from starting for good none of the players were in the mood to socialize or crack jokes. Some of them would never return to this room once their three matches were up. Some of them would return with no hope after only two of them. Some of them would break down in the corner while packing up. 

Hinata covered his face with his towel. He wanted to play. He definitely did not want to leave the court. And to do that, he and Nishinoya would have to play flawlessly. 

A cheer rocked the walls of the locker room; the first game had begun. Poland and Finland on one court, France and Canada on other, many more starting at the very same time in two other buildings around the city. He felt weak in the knees, the stress now hitting him with double the weight. His knee began to bounce, the small taps of the bottom of the corner of his shoe echoing in the locker room. 

“Water?”

Nishinoya was standing in front of him, towering over his hunched over form. He managed to shoot him a half-hearted smile.

“Why is it that every time I’m in trouble you pull up with water?” he laughed lightly, grabbing the frosted over bottle with his shaky hands. Nishinoya shrugged his arms.

“It’s cool, it’s good, and you gotta focus on drinking rather than thinking. Also, hydration is important!” He chimed, but he himself was nearly vibrating. The crowd cheered. One of the teams scored a point. Nishinoya swore he saw Hinata’s pupils dilate. 

“Do you boys want to start warming up early?” a low, melodious voice snapped them both out of their stress-filled trance. Iwaizumi, their coach for the duration of the Olympics stood at the door, his usual notebook under his arm, his face stern, but relaxed. Hinata and Nishinoya looked at each other for a moment, before nodding their heads and grabbing their gear, walking into the corridor to stretch. “Stretch two times as hard. You’re stiff as boards,” he muttered, pushing Hinata’s back gently as he reached for his toes with his hands, folding nearly in half. 

Another cheer. Then another. One more. Whistle. Whistle. An overwhelming cheer, and a long whistle. It was over. It was their time. 

A thin veil of sweat covered their bodies as they gave Iwaizumi one final hug before trotting over to the entrance to the play area. Bouncers on both sides of the doors gave them a nod and pointed towards the opening with their heads. The crowds cheered as the cleanup crew did a final sweep of the court, ridding it of any water, sweat, or blood. The lights were hot against their skin, and as their eyes met the opposing team, with faces equally as triumphant as stressed, they unzipped their jerseys, revealing the snow-white uniforms underneath. The crowd began a small chant, cheering on the hosts of the Olympics, and Nishinoya’s heart did a somersault. 

This was it.

**This was it.**

Ten minutes to warm up. A handshake under the net. A deep breath.

Game.

Hinata didn’t remember much of what happened after the first whistle. It was a mix of flashing lights, bruises, and scrapes, alongside shouts, and his hair whipping at his face as he jumped and attacked, shouting when the strain on his body became too high. The words Iwaizumi said to him during the break between sets was a blur as well, and he only remembered him patting him on the arm, screaming words of encouragement. 

In that blurry mess, Noya was the only thing he was fully focused on. It was a silly thing, to not look carefully at your opponents but at your partner, but Hinata trusted his gut and Nishinoya’s experience to guide them both; he learned to act on his cues and to follow his minimal and barely noticeable decisions. They were a duo. A tandem. A team.

A roar carried across the stadium as the light blinded him for the last time and he brought the racket down, the shuttlecock flying over the dark-haired player’s head and slamming into the court just before the out line. The judge whistled two times, and Hinata took a sharp breath, one that stung his lungs and made him lightheaded. Then he screamed, a deep, guttural roar carrying across the building as the Japanese fans went wild on the stands. It was rare to see this amount of support during preliminaries, but the boys didn’t think twice of it. They shared a firm handshake with the Malaysian team, and then one with the judge, who congratulated them on their first victory.

And then they were back at the hotel. 

The cycle began again.

Malaysia-Japan ended with a set score of 1:2.

Russia-Japan similarly, 1:2.

Slovakia-Japan was a whopping 0:3, and Noya couldn’t help the tears in his eyes when he realized that they were going to the quarterfinals. Finally, a light in the tunnel. Something to bring up the morale crushed by the Polish team a few days ago. They laughed as they drank juice on the day the matchups for the quarterfinals were announced. The UK didn’t sound like a hard game at all; they were both freshmen to the badminton scene and were both in only a couple of competitions. Hinata and Nishinoya happily skipped down to the stadium on the dictated day.

They got cocky. 

Nishinoya’s lungs were on fire as Carterman served another, almost painfully fast shuttlecock right at Hinata. He threw himself to the front to receive it, seeing as it lost momentum in the middle of the flight, be that because of a miscalculation or a crooked grip, and his body collided with the ground, his, still tender, bruises sending electricity through his body. The shuttlecock flew upwards, saved from its meeting with the floor, and Noya tumbled for a moment before he managed to get back on his feet and on the playing field. Hinata was already in the air, his eyes now furiously scanning the field in front of him, looking for an opening. 

“Your left!” Noya screamed, and Hinata went right, slamming the rocket down onto the shuttlecock guiding it to the corner. Carterman was faster, however, completely seeing through the bluff and taking just a simple step to his right to receive the shuttlecock which flew directly over Hinata’s head and fell gently near the end line of the playing zone. A single whistle. The set was done. With one set lost 21:17, they were facing their second real crisis - their own blindness. Iwaizumi was red on the face when they ran to the bench to take a sip of water and dry their faces.

“What the absolute FUCK was that!” he screamed, so different from his usual calm and collected personality. “Did you forget where you are? Did you underestimate them? Are you two dumb!” he was seething, his grip on the notebook turning his knuckles white. “You’re here for one reason; to represent Japan proudly and fully! And what are you two doing? Fucking around?! In the quarterfinals!?” 

The camera crew moved uncomfortably close to them, and Iwaizumi took a deep, shaky sigh. 

“Iwa, we-”

“Coach Iwaizumi.” he seethed. Hinata felt ashamed, and when he heard a small laugh coming from the UK’s side of the court, he just wished to disappear again. The doubts and fears that sprouted in his chest after the lost battle with team Poland now blossomed and tickled his throat, making him nauseous. Nishinoya wasn’t looking well either, his knee was bleeding, and even though a medic was tending to it as they spoke, it still throbbed painfully, reminding him of the fall he just took. Iwaizumi glanced at his watch, and with a grunt, he looked back at the players. 

“There isn’t much I can tell you by this point.” he readjusted his grip on the notebook and ran a hand through his messy hair. “You two know how to play. You’ve played thousands of matches, against each other, against others. I’m sure that you two already know how to turn this around. I don’t-” he bit his lip, looking away, obviously frazzled by something. He shooed the camera away, and, although begrudgingly, they obliged, turning the lens towards the rows of fans instead. “-Something happened. Something you two are not telling me about. You’ve been off ever since a bit before the official opening ceremony. We don’t have much time and your shut mouths can cost us a medal. What. Happened.” he accented every word in the sentence as if it was the last one he would ever speak. The tips of Nishinoya’s ears burned like torches. 

“We lost.”

“You lost what?”

“To Poland.”

“When? Why? I don’t understand, stop dancing around the topic and just tell me!” he nearly shouted, only stopping himself when the camera crew turned their heads towards him curiously. Iwaizumi coughed into his closed fist.

“We lost to team Poland in a sparring match. It was Thursday before the opening ceremony. They completely crushed us.” Nishinoya explained, massaging his sore nose. Hinata jumped in, seeing the stormy expression on Iwaizumi’s face. 

“We’ve been thinking about a strategy to beat them ever since, though! Day and night!” he chirped but quieted down when the imaginary clouds above Iwaizumi’s head began shooting thunderbolts.

“I see,” he muttered, opening up his notebook and glancing at one of the pages. “You two aren’t idiots, I apologize for calling you that.” he snapped it close, and Hinata jumped in his seat. “You’re complete and utter morons.” he finished, throwing the notebook to an empty seat. “You’re telling me that you’ve been playing your **Olympic matches** thinking about not the current games but about the slim, wispy possibility that you will deal with the Polish team in the future?” he asked, his voice cold and devoid of feeling. 

“Coach-”

“Wake the fuck up.” he said and sat down at his chair, not even sparing them a glance. “If you lose right now you can kiss all the future matches goodbye. You’re leaving.”

It was like a bucket of cold water was splashed on their heads. Iwaizumi was right; they were stupid. They were only looking at their opponents through the prism of the Polish team, applying the experience they had with them to every match since. 

With a start, Nishinoya and Hinata both understood at the same time; it was a miracle they came that fair with their judgment clouded up.

When the whistle sounded again, Iwaizumi kept his eyes on the notebook, but he didn’t have to look to feel it - the new fire that was lit in his caretakers.  It crackled and sparked, leaving behind a scent of concentration and passing summer. 

The scene became a blur again. 

Two consecutive sets taken for themselves with a three-point and five-point lead; it was an amazing comeback that left Iwaizumi staring proudly as the players shook hands. The thin bandage on Nishinoya’s knee long bled through, and Hinata was seeing stars, but it didn’t matter; right there and then, there were only the two of them and the way to the top, unclouded by doubt. 

And when they spotted wine red uniforms on the other side of the net during the semifinals, after defeating France 2:0, they knew that they were ready, no matter what may come to them. Mieszko threw the racket in the air a couple of times, catching it flawlessly each time, his sports glasses fixed snugly to his head, and Robert was grinning, excited for another match with his friends. As they shook hands, there was only one question Robert asked them both, and they knew Mieszko was asking it too.

“Are you guys going to actually go all out this time?”

For the first time, with an unclouded heart, Nishinoya and Hinata shook their heads ‘yes’.

The whistle blew.

The first yellow leaf fell from the maple tree outside of the building. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading exspectatione! It was a project that was really close to my heart, and I enjoyed writing it very much, even though I feel like I rushed it. Then again, no one died in this story, so I suppose I came out of my comfort zone!   
> I'd like to thank the mods of the HQ Olympics Bang for organizing it and taking care of all of the participants throughout the entire thing.   
> I'd like to thank my partner, Nano, even more, as they stuck with me through my procrastination, and delivered a wonderful piece of art that I have already saved on my computer to give me a serotonin boost.
> 
> I will be posting an epilogue to this story at a later date; I'd like to tie up some loose ends that I noticed while editing the chapters, so definitely look forward to that!  
> Good night! Stay safe!


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